


111 - The Period From Hell

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mini Fic, Reader-Insert, body pos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-10 22:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17434733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “can you do a story when you’re on your period and van takes care of you???”





	111 - The Period From Hell

You woke up at 5am with the familiar and unwelcome tightness across your lower back. Rolling over, moaning, Van stirred next to you. "Baby? What's wrong?" His voice was slurred with sleep. Moaning again, you got out of bed and went to the bathroom. The blood was already thick, and you rested your head on the wall next to the toilet, rocking with pain.

Minutes later there was a knocking on the door. "Baby?"

"Gimme a sec, Van," you said as loud as you could; it was still almost a whisper. You got clean and went to pull your underwear back on. Stained red, you felt a great loss. They were in your top three favourite pairs. "Fuck," you muttered under your breath. "Van? Could you grab me some underwear?"

"Already did," he called back.

You opened the door just wide enough to peek through. He handed them to you and you closed the door. He'd located the Period Panties you hilariously ordered for yourself. The front print read 'Bleeder of the Pack' and the back had a badass kitten with sharp claws. You appreciated that Van was trying to make you laugh. You stepped into them; the night pad an uncomfortable reminder of your anatomy. You opened the door again.

"Thank you," you said. He nodded and handed you a glass of water and a couple of painkillers. "Oh my god," and you swallowed them fast. "I love you,"

"Love you too. Come on. Back to bed. I've got one of your wheat bags heating," he told you. You looked at him like he'd given you an inner peace that would never break. He took your hand and you followed close behind him through the quiet dark of your place. You rested your head on his back as you walked.

Under the covers of your warm bed, you listened to Van in the kitchen. He returned quickly, climbing over your body. Pulling you close he put the wheat bag against your back. "Tummy," you whispered. He moved the bag there, and you held your arms around it. He rubbed your lower back in lieu of the bag. Van's hand was applying hard pressure, and it helped. You cuddled in closer. Van smelt like shampoo and butterscotch. There was a trace of tobacco too, but he'd showered before bed and was in a clean shirt.

When you moaned again, Van tried to pull you closer. You were already pressed hard against him though. There was no more space between your bodies to close. He rocked you gently instead, needing to do something while you hurt. You fell back into a chemical induced sleep.

…

When you woke, only a few hours later, Van was not in bed. In the hallway you could smell fresh bread. Van wasn't in the kitchen, but the bread maker told you that he'd been up for a while. It was almost finished baking in a process that took hours. He walked into the room while you were standing over the machine. He wrapped his arms around you from behind and kissed your neck.

"How's the pain?" he asked.

"Probably need more codeine in a bit," you said. He nodded and moved to make you a cup of tea. "How long have you been up?"

"Uh, didn't go back to sleep after we woke up. Just waited for you to sleep, then came out here," he told you.

You had grown accustomed to waking up alone. Van's body had gotten used to minimal sleep on the road, and back home it was the same. If he slept for five hours straight it was considered a lot. He'd sit out in the lounge playing guitar softly, or sit on the balcony smoking well into dawn. In the beginning, you hated it, but you realised it was better that way. If you forced him to stay by your side he'd move around restlessly, destroying your own sleep cycle and rest. It was good to fall asleep in his arms, then wake up with room to move and think, then go out and find a happy and calm Van somewhere in the house. He'd always make you tea, and if you were lucky he'd have the bread machine on, or a decision about where to go for breakfast.

You curled up on the couch and watched Van cross the room with a cup of tea in one hand, and a wrapped gift in the other. He put the cup on the table and handed over the gift. "Was saving this for when you needed cheerin' up. Seems like a good time, yeah?"

"A present?" you asked. He nodded happily and sat on his knees in front of you. You untied the bow, and used the ribbon to make Van a headband. "You can match Larry," you told him. He laughed.

"Probably don't look as good in them, though,"

"The boy does rock a headband," you replied. When the paper fell away, you were left with folded lilac wool fabric. You lifted it, and realised it was a blanket shaped like a mermaid's tale that your legs could slide into. "Oh my god!" you cried and rubbed your face on the soft blanket. "I love it," you told Van as you stretched your legs out and pulled the blanket over them.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You know I'm a sucker for novelty anything,"

"I know. Glad you like it. Do you want anything on your bread or just butter?" he asked, standing.

He brought you two thick slices of fresh, hot bread, lathered in butter. You swallowed more pain relief and chewed on the bread happily. Van put the extended version of Donnie Darko on and climbed onto you. Sandwiched between the couch and his body, you felt comfortingly crushed. As you ran your fingers through his soft hair, he asked if you needed anything else.

"To not have my internal organs shedding their lining out through my vagina," you replied. 

"I can't fix that one for you, babe,"

"I know. Nah, I'm good. You've got me well and truly looked after. Thank you," and you kissed the top of his head. He wriggled happily.

"Just doing my job."


End file.
